The Pleasures of Insomnia Are Ones I Can't Avoid
by SigmaTheta
Summary: The fact that something should be impossible has never stopped Topher Brink before. Written for the prompt, “If there's a Topher wedge, shouldn't there be a Bennett wedge as well?” Post The Hollow Men. Topher/Bennett-ish.


The body is gone by the time Topher sets foot in his office again. He's not sure who moved her or what was done. Nobody volunteers the information, and he manages to never ask.

(But the question rises in his mind at the oddest times when he speaks to Adelle, Echo, Paul, anyone. It bubbles up and turns their words into white noise. _What did you do with her? Where is she?_)

* * *

_"We can bring Bennett back. We can map…"_

_"There's nothing left to map."_

* * *

The fact that something should be impossible has never stopped Topher Brink before. (A small part of him, the underused part that now keeps him up at night with guilt and remorse and questions, tries to say that this is really what his problem has always been, but he shuts it out.) His whole life has been an exercise in overcoming futility.

His first thought is to rebuild her from scratch. Creating life is simple enough for him, and he's made near-perfect replicas before. Rebecca Mynor, for one. Joel had called it amazing, and it truly had been.

He spends an hour or two constructing the imprint from the little details he remembers before he hits a roadblock: he knows next to nothing about Bennett Halverson.

He knows her scientific achievements, her speech patterns, the uneven curve of her smile. He knows she hates Caroline and likes pigs and wasabi peas. He could look up her history, where she grew up and what her family was like, and create some realistic memories. But he knows nothing about _her_.

He never got the chance to learn.

Topher deletes the file and shuts down the computer. He tries to sleep and stares at the ceiling until morning.

* * *

The collapse of Tucson has only meant more work for him . He needs to hack into the rest of Rossum's files, research the effects of shutting down the mainframe, determine whether or not any of the other Dollhouses are planning to retaliate, look into the status of Senator Perrin, fix the damage done to the Dr. Saunders imprint, and check on the reintegration of their hurriedly released Actives. Even on the nights when he doesn't sleep, Topher doesn't manage to get anything done.

He falls back on old habits, hiding his exhaustion by being as annoyingly animated as possible. Echo and Paul are too distracted to give him a second thought. Priya and Tony don't know him well enough to tell the difference. Adelle doesn't buy it for a moment.

"Topher, are you making any progress?"

"Um, no, not exactly." He shifts and turns his chair so that he's blocking the computer screen and the utter lack of work being done on it. "I kind of…haven't really started yet?"

Adelle closes her eyes and presses her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose, and Topher is reminded of just how draining this whole ordeal has been on every one of them. "I'm certain I don't have to explain to you why this is fairly urgent," she says without bothering to look at him.

Topher nods. "Yeah," he breathes, "I know. I'm just…" He shakes his head. "I'll work on it now. Sorry," he finishes, swiveling his chair back to face his computer.

Adelle pulls her hand away from her face and opens her eyes, giving him a look he can only see on the edge of his peripheral vision. It still manages to make him feel uncomfortable and guilty, like a child about to be scolded, and he squirms nervously in his seat. "Are you all right?" she asks, her tone significantly softer.

"What?" Topher says, turning quickly to face her again so that the hairs on the back of his neck stop standing on end. "Of course. Totally," he continues, grinning with false cheer. "I mean, we saved the world, right? Why shouldn't I be?"

Adelle's gaze turns skeptical instead of piercing, which isn't ideal, but Topher will take it. "I suppose we did," she replies. After a moment, she steps forward and sets her hand lightly on his shoulder. "Get some sleep," she says, gentle but firm. "Start on the task in the morning."

* * *

The next time the possibility crosses his mind, it's pure luck. A happy accident.

One of Rossum's ludicrously numerous files is labeled 'Employees', and Topher is tempted to just skip it, certain it'll only be full of the names and information of everyone from Harding on down to the night janitors. Nothing important and sure to be a waste of time. But he is supposed to go through _everything_, and on closer inspection, the file description expands on the title by a few characters to offer 'Employees - DC', which is just enough to pique Topher's interest.

When the file opens and a few seconds pass for him to register the information now on his computer screen, his eyes go very wide. This is not just a list of emails and home phone numbers. This is a directory of backup imprints, complete, fully formed, faithful copies of all the most vital members of the DC Dollhouse staff. Raw data ready to be downloaded into a wedge and shoved into an Active.

His hands are shaking, and Topher can feel his heart hammering away in his chest as he slowly scrolls down the page, eyes quickly and anxiously scanning the list of names.

There.

'Halverson, Bennett' and the date of the scan.

She's right here.

Topher has to force himself to stay calm as he reads the information. Everything looks to be intact. The scan is from before he'd met her, but it's still fairly recent. That's not so bad. Who doesn't want a fresh start sometimes? And here he has a real, honest chance for that. A second shot at her life.

He closes the file. Can't do it now. It's the middle of the day, and everyone is still here. Fully aware he'll be too distracted to be productive, he opens the next of Rossum's files and tries to fake it anyway.

* * *

There are yet more hurdles to overcome, but Topher has already solved the biggest problem, and he's certainly not going to let such comparatively small issues get in his way now. Only one thing really troubles him, and that's the lack of a body to place Bennett in. Her own is long gone, and there are no Dolls left in this house.

It had made sense, restoring them. Free everyone under their protection before going around and making powerful enemies. It was a good thing to do. Right now, Topher almost wishes they hadn't. (What would he have really done with an Active? Let Bennett live for the length of a contract? Let her hop bodies? Sacrifice an innocent stranger to a permanent imprint? He's not entirely certain, and it's uncomfortable to contemplate.)

It's another late night for him, largely spent musing on his own problem rather than working toward their goals, when something moving on the main floor catches his eye. He jumps to his feet, ready to raise an alarm, but he focuses for a moment and realizes it's just Saunders, staring curiously up at the light coming from his office. They've been letting her wander in her blank state, everyone a bit too preoccupied to pay her any mind now that she's no longer dangerous. Topher reminds himself to finish fixing her wedge so they can get their doctor back instead of this living ghost haunting them.

Suddenly, his thoughts backtrack and correct themselves. Not Saunders, he realizes, but _Whiskey_. Empty, shell-of-a-person Whiskey, whose contract was extended indefinitely after an unfortunate run-in with a rogue Active. Whiskey, whose original personality was lost in the archives.

Whiskey tilts her head, looks away, and moves on.

* * *

"Is it time for my treatment?"

Topher avoids meeting her open, earnest gaze and does his best to ignore the part of himself screaming that he not do this. "Yes, it is," he says, fidgeting as he checks all the preparations on the machine. "Lie back, please," he adds as he moves around behind the imprint chair, sliding Bennett's wedge into place.

Whiskey smiles trustingly and settles back in the chair. Topher moves back to the control panel and checks everything one last time. Then, before giving himself any more chances to change his mind, he hits the switch.

Whiskey's body convulses in the blue light, and she gasps from a pain she won't remember. The process dies down after a few moments, and she is still as the chair shifts into its resting state. Topher turns away from the computer and stands in front of her. He bites his lip. An uneasy feeling settles deep in his stomach as she slowly begins to stir.

Her head falls forward, then tilts up again. Her shoulders roll back, like she's shrugging off a deep sleep, and finally, her eyes flutter open. Vague puzzlement, and then they shift into an unfamiliar expression. Topher can't remember the last time he's seen those eyes in any but two states: utterly blank or harsh with hatred and disdain.

The uneasiness blossoms into nausea and panic. The second thoughts rapidly begin to well up. Her eyes settle on his face, and her lips curve into that uneven, self-conscious smile. The movement of the facial muscles pulls at the scars. "Topher Brink," she says after a moment, sounding confused but pleasantly surprised. Her voice inhabits a slightly higher register, but still differs too greatly in its timbre.

He's going to be sick. He had wrongly believed he was prepared for this, this triple event of Whiskey and Saunders and Bennett. He feels as though his vision has gone blurred and out of focus, shifting between half-images of each figure before he can see any one of them clearly. He opens his mouth to speak – she's looking at him expectantly, concerned – but nothing comes.

Instead, he quickly whirls around and hits the kill switch, starting up the wiping process. The chair tilts back before she can register what is happening.

And then Bennett is gone again.

Topher presses the back of his hand to his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut.

* * *

Later, when he starts up the imprint chair one more time, Topher's hands are still shaking.

Saunders opens her eyes and immediately recoils. Her entire body conveys disgust, and it's almost a relief. She's out of the chair within moments, backing away from it.

Topher explains as briskly as he can, tells her to ask someone else for the details as he edges toward the door. He pauses long enough to say, "Welcome back," over his shoulder, and then he leaves.

* * *

"Topher, sweetheart, you need to eat something today." Adelle gently strokes his cheek and tries to coax him into taking the bowl and spoon from her, but he just pulls away, shrinking into the corner of the pod. One of his bad days.

"No no no no," he babbles, shaking his head. "Need to solve the problem, fix the problem, put it all back." He's holding an imprint wedge cradled in his hands, just another piece of his haphazard, meaningless collection that surrounds him and somehow helps him to sleep. Adelle has no idea what, if anything, is on it; if it ever had a label, it's been rubbed away long ago by twitching fingers. But she knows better than to try and pull it away from him and force the bowl of food on him instead. That would just make it worse. Topher lifts the wedge to his ear and closes his eyes. "Shh. She's talking," he says. "Have to listen. Solve the problem."

Adelle sighs and forces herself to hold it together long enough to try one more time. "Topher, please," she whispers, her tone just as gentle and tentative as she can manage. "You can't do anything if you don't eat. You know that. The human mind is useless without energy to fuel it." Appealing to the genius still hiding behind the haze is a method she figured out early on. It doesn't always work. After a brief pause, she adds, "She'll still speak to you if you take a moment to eat something."

Topher hesitates, looking conflicted. His eyes flicker between Adelle's face and his own hands, where he drums his fingers anxiously and tightens his grip. Slowly, very slowly, he turns and slides the wedge between the cushion and the wall of the pod, and he reaches out to take the bowl from her.


End file.
